Trust Fund Fiancé (Texas Cattleman's Club: Rags to Riches 4)

He didn’t like it.

But damn if a small part of him didn’t hate it either.

“Where will you choose to be buried? The Wingate side or the Holloways?” she mused. But there was nothing casual or easy about the question...or the answer. “God, that’s a morbid question. I heard it as soon as I asked it. Still...can’t be easy feeling as if you’re split in two. Trying to figure out if love or obligation, a debt unpaid, holds you here.”

His pulse thudded, echoing in his ears. And inside his chest, the arrow that had struck quivered in agitation.

“What are you doing here?” he asked, abruptly changing the subject away from his family. From his own discomfort and inner demons. “Can’t be just to visit Melissa’s grave.”

That clear inspection didn’t waver, but after several seconds, she released him from it, glancing over her shoulder. And he exhaled on a low, deep breath.

“No, my grandmother rests just over there. I come by every other week. It’s only been a couple of months since we lost her, so being here...” She shrugged a shoulder. “It brings me more comfort than it does her, I?

??m sure. But I try to bring enough flowers for her and Melissa.”

“Thank you,” he said, his palm itching to stroke down the length of her dark brown braid. He slid his hand in his pocket instead. “And I’m sorry about your grandmother.” The troubles with WinJet and the fire in the manufacturing plant had consumed him, and he’d been working like a madman since, so he hadn’t heard about her death. “I didn’t know her, but she must’ve been very special.”

The brief hesitation might not have been caught by most people. But most people weren’t paying attention to every breath that passed through Reagan’s lips.

“We shared a close bond,” she said.

“But?” Ezekiel prodded. “There’s definitely a but there.”

His light teasing didn’t produce the effect he’d sought—the lightening of the shadows that had crowded into her gaze.

“But it’s difficult to discover the one person you believed loved you unconditionally didn’t trust you.”

The tone—quiet, almost tranquil—didn’t match the words. So one of them was a deception. From personal experience, he’d bet on the tone.

And against his better judgment but to his dick’s delight, when he reached out, grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger and tipped her head back, he had confirmation.

Her eyes. Those magnificent, beautiful eyes couldn’t lie. If windows were eyes to the soul, Reagan’s were fucking floor-to-ceiling bay windows thrown wide open to the world.

A man could lose himself in them. Step inside and never leave.

With a barely concealed snarl directed at himself, he dropped his arm and just managed not to step back. In retreat. Because that’s what it would be. Flight from the need to fall into the pool of those eyes.

He’d had that sensation of drowning before. And he’d willingly dived in. And now the person who was supposed to be there to always keep him afloat lay in the ground at both of their feet.

Fuck it. He took that step back.

“Why do you think she didn’t trust you?” he asked, focusing on Reagan and not the fear that scratched at his breastbone.

She released a short, brittle huff. “Think? I know.”

Shifting, she gave him her profile, but he caught the slight firming of her lips, the drag of her fingertips across the left side of her collarbone. He narrowed his eyes on the small movement. She’d done that the night of the party. Was it a subconscious tell on her part? He catalogued the detail to take out and analyze later.

“Well, tell me why she didn’t trust you, then,” he pushed. Gently, but it was still a push. Something inside him—something ephemeral but insatiable—hungered to know more about this woman who had grown up right under his nose but remained this familiar, sexy-as-hell stranger.

“Did you know that I’m a millionaire?” she asked, dodging his question—no, his demand.

Ezekiel nodded. “I’m not surprised. Your father is a very successful—”

“No.” She waved a hand, cutting him off. “Not through my father. In my own right, I’m a millionaire. When my grandmother died, she left each of her three grandchildren enough money to never have to worry about being taken care of. But that’s the thing. She did worry. About me anyway.” No breeze kicked up over the quiet cemetery, yet she crossed her arms, clutching her elbows. “She added a stipulation to her will. I can only receive my inheritance when I turn thirty—or marry. And not just any man. A suitable man.”

Her lips twisted on suitable, and he resisted the urge to smooth his thumb over the curve, needing to eradicate the bitterness encapsulated in it. That emotion didn’t belong on her—didn’t sit right with him.

“The condition doesn’t mean she didn’t trust you. Maybe she just wanted to make sure you were fully mature before taking on the responsibility and burden that comes with money.”